


After Midnight

by lendmesomesugar



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Detective Noir, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lendmesomesugar/pseuds/lendmesomesugar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kid's there again, polishing glasses and looking relaxed as hell, as if shootings and drug deals aren't going on outside his bar every fucking night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [The Hypothetical AU Fest](http://salvadore-hart.livejournal.com/31301.html), in response to salvadore_hart's prompt: 1930s crime novel!AU; Walt is a bartender in a seedy side of town. Brad is the local private detective that often passes through.

The kid's there again, polishing glasses and looking relaxed as hell, as if shootings and drug deals aren't going on outside his bar every fucking night. Brad slides onto a stool and sets his hat down on the bar. The kid takes his time, then flicks the cloth across his shoulder and comes over to serve him.

"Scotch," says Brad. He gets a nod, an almost-smile. Something in Brad's chest tightens - from too many cigarettes or something else - as the bartender turns away to make his drink, and he wishes that he could remember the kid's name.

The bar's empty, except for a guy in the corner who's got a drink in his hand and an ashtray at his elbow. The blinds are drawn down over the windows, only the tiniest bit of light spilling in from the streelights outside. Brad could almost imagine that everything was fine, that the streets outside were clean and that he was only here for a drink. Almost.

The kid turns back with his scotch, places it on the bar in front of him. No coaster. Brad takes the glass and downs most of it in one go. The condensation on the glass makes his fingers slippery. The kid crosses his arms and leans a hip against the bar, still looking at him.

"We missed you in here the other week," he says. There's no hint of that smile.

Brad glances around the emtpy bar, wondering who 'we' is exactly. All the times he's been in this place, the kid's been the only one working. He shrugs, puts his glass down. Runs his thumb along the wet side of it. "Been busy."

"You some kind of cop?"

Brad laughs. "Yeah. Some kind of cop."

The kid's mouth twitches, just a little. Brad finds himself wanting to make him laugh. Anyone who works on this side of town could probably use a laugh.

"Brad Colbert," he says, extending a hand and wondering where his sudden boldness came from.

But the kid takes his hand, something - amusement, maybe - in his eyes. "Walt."

And perhaps the handshake lasts a second too long, or perhaps Brad's just imagining it. Then the kid - _Walt_ \- smiles, and Brad can't find it in himself to care.

"Can I get you another?" Walt asks, taking the cloth from his shoulder and wiping the bar between them, reflexively.

Brad finishes the last of his scotch and slides the glass across to him. "Yes," he says.


End file.
